


Rage Makes Monsters

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Being Lost, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes Feels, Daryl Has Issues, Daryl's Past, Domestic Violence, Good Brother Merle, Hurt Daryl, Hurt Rick, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Abuse, Past Violence, Physical Abuse, Protective Merle, Scars, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick and Daryl are on a run and nothing seems to be going right. Daryl senses Rick's unease and growing agitation. After a week of being stuck on the road, running from a herd of walkers, Rick loses it and snaps and Daryl is his unlucky victim.<br/>(Set at the Prison after Lori dies.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rage

        Night was near fallen and a bad storm had swept in during a run and forced the sheriff and the archer to seek refuge in a suburban neighborhood. The neighborhood had backed up to a vast expanse of Georgia woodlands and marshes. The small suburban community was surrounded with tall white fences as if in a futile attempt to separate the civilized world from the endless wilds. It was a struggling illusion that many small communities as such had upheld. Ignoring the wilds that refused to be tamed or allow themselves to be killed off. This thought entertained the archer. Man pushes back nature and tries to conquer her beauty but sooner or later nature will return and reclaim her lands and entrap them in her wild splendor.  
  
        But today, Daryl had little luxury to enjoy entertaining thoughts such as these for his partner had been in a foul mood all week and it only seemed to get worse with the sudden appearance of the storm. The world was a buzz with life, the woods had felt alive, the air electrified with the coming storm. Even the walkers were affected by the phenomenon. They were royally riled up, gathering in herds and trekking through the area. Rick and Daryl had been forced to hole for the night every day this week. The walkers had entire roads blocked off and going around wasn't an option. The highway was impassible and the back roads had been washed away from the rising currents of the creeks during the spring floods.  
  
        Rick was growing increasing more impatient. The two men had been searching for supplies for nearly a week now. They had been pushed so far into the next three counties and staying away from home so long was distressing. It didn't bother Daryl none. He'd go on hunts for entire days back at the quarry but Rick worried about the others. Of course, Glenn, Carol and Maggie had things under control back at the prison. Carl was taking care of Judith with the help of Beth. Hershel was tending to the fields and the rest made sure the fences stayed up. Everything was fine but why wasn't Rick at ease. This should have been a peaceful run that helped relieve tension but Rick found it hard to unwind when so much was at stake.  
  
        The supplies they brought back were to ensure they could make it through the winter without the need to go out anymore then necessary. They had raided every available building in the area that they knew of and were spreading out to a nearby county when they were pushed off course by the massive stampede of walkers and now were further away from home then Rick was comfortable with.  
  
        Inside the small two story suburban home, Daryl and Rick had cleared each room, one at a time on the first floor. Daryl had offered to clear the upstairs, sensing Rick might need his space but Rick was adamant to aid him. As they crept up the stairs, slowly at first, listening for sounds of life with every few steps. Daryl led and Rick trailed behind. As Daryl checked the bedroom on the right of the stairs, Rick's attention had been drawn to the picture frames that lined the stairwell all the way up. With each step he inspected the photo of a happy family of three. A middle age man of average height with dark hair and a smiling face standing beside who Rick assumed was his wife, a small woman with a delicate frame, long brown hair braided over one shoulder, smiling at the camera. Her arms draped over a young boy about Carl's age. He shared the same head of brown hair as his mother but looked to take more after his father. All of them appeared to be happy. As he reached the top step, Daryl stepped out of the room on the right and nodded back towards the room "Clear." Then started towards the last room, on the left side of the hallway. Rick raised his knife, signalling to Daryl that he would lead. Rick opened the door, Daryl at his back, crossbow ready. The door swung open slowly and seconds ticked by. When it seemed nothing was going to jump out at them, they proceeded in. The room was that of a boys. The walls were covered in super hero posters, the desk had a few dozen figures that Rick recognized from the games Carl used to play before everything went to hell. The closet door had a small toy basketball hoop mounted to the top of it and a basket at the bottom to catch the fist sized foam balls. Turning around, rick froze in his tracks. There was a twin sized bed on the other side of the room.  In it was two familiar faces he had seen just a few minutes prior. The woman laid on the bed, her arms wrapped around the form of a young boy in her lap. Both were dead, nearly mummified by the Georgia heat. Frozen in a death embrace forever. Rick felt bile rising up in his throat and he turned away and left the room in a hurried pace, pushing past Daryl in his haste. Daryl understood man's sudden departure and sympathized with him. Quietly he turned and shut the door, locking it behind him as if that would lock away the memory of the deceased mother and child.  
  
  
  
        Since the incident in the upstairs bedroom, Daryl decided it best that they remain on the first floor, setting up camp in the living room. It was a relatively modest living room. It had a couch at the back of the room, centered between a rocking chair near the large single pain glass window that viewed the street and a worn leather recliner positioned on the far back corner. A side table between the couch and it's outside seating. A three level glass coffee table positioned in front of the couch with a couple cup marks scarring the would be spotless surface. Across from the coffee table was a large t.v at eye level, perched atop a black wood and tinted glass entertainment center. To Daryl it felt kind of sophisticated.  
  
        As night fell, he found it harder and harder to reach sleep. His companion had grown increasingly more agitated with the passing hours, pacing about frantically. To the point it was making the archer nervous as well. "Rick, take a break. Get some rest." The archer advised but his words were met with a dark glare from the older man. This had caught the archer off guard. It would seem the rain riled up more then just the walkers. He couldn't blame the man. He'd been away from the prison for so long, not knowing how things were and he was obviously worried. But Daryl had a feeling it was more then just worry that had ate away at his companion. It was something deeper. Somewhere Daryl wasn't comfortable prying at so he let it be and attempted to get some rest, sitting stretched across an old leather recliner, legs draped over one of the arms, crossbow sitting comfortably in his lap. Closing his eyes, he listened to the soft pattering of raindrops on the pains of glass on the front windows and the frantic pacing of his partner which slowed to a stop. He felt the tug of sleep on his eyelids and was soon to succumb to it's temptation.  
  
        Suddenly there came a loud crash like the rolling thunder had kissed the glass windows into an explosion of shards. Daryl was to his feet in heartbeat. His pulsing heart hammering in his head as his body bristled with the sudden pumping of adrenaline through his veins. His eyes blinking away the sleep and searching the dimly lit room to find Rick stands in the middle of it. Glass shards spilling over in front of him and the busted frame of the coffee table strewn about the floor. Rick's shoulders heaved up and down in the darkness giving the older man an intimidating appearance. A lightning bolt struck outside, bringing the room to a day time appearance momentarily. A flash crossing Rick's face allowing Daryl to peer into the unfamiliar eyes of his partner. They were wild and filled with fire. Daryl had to admit, it kind of frightened him. The usual careful calm Rick had been snatched away by the raging form before him and Daryl felt a deep sense of fear filling his stomach. Tiny flashes of memories of his past jumped up behind his eyes, reminding him of scenes of his childhood when his father had returned home drunk from the bar with that same blazing fire in his eyes. The look that told him nothing but pain would fill the rest of his night.  
  
        "Rick?" Daryl willed his lips to form the word. His body tense and screaming for him to run. An automatic response he pushed back to the best of his ability. This was Rick. He knew him. Rick would never hurt him. "Rick." Daryl repeated but gained no response from his partner. Ricks eyes were wild and appeared as if he hadn't noticed the archer's presence or heard his words.  
  
        Rick's shoulders continued to heave as hard breathes came from his chest, large and loud, increasing in pace before Rick lunged for the t.v and the entertainment center, grabbing it in his hands and ripping them away from the wall and to the floor. The explosion of black crystal filled Daryl's ears and forced him to shield himself from the glass shards. Small shreds bouncing off of his leather jacket. "Rick!" Daryl said demanding the man's attention and reaching for his shoulder. His fingers just barely gripped the older man's shoulder when he tensed and wheeled around on Daryl. Even in the darkness, Daryl could make out the uncontrollable fire burning in Rick's eyes as the man turned on him, throwing a fist into his face and quickly coming up to get in a couple more shots to his gut. Daryl grunted as he realized the kind of hell he just opened himself up to. With each hit of Rick's fists into his flesh, terrifying memories filled Daryl's mind. Memories of his father laying into him the same way. Daryl double over, as one of Rick's punches knocked all the air out of his lungs and he gasped to replenish them with oxygen, the momentary panic of suffocation adding to his already growing terror. Rick Slammed into him again, knocking Daryl to the floor. Within seconds his fist was balled up in the archer's shirt and he had him pinned to the floor, fist slamming into his face, grinding him into the layers of broken glass shards. The shrapnel piercing his skin. Daryl cried out, managing to raise his arms to deflect most of the blows. "Rick! Stop!" He cried.  
  
        "Please!" He pleaded, unable to fight back while defending against the flurry of fists of his enraged companion. Daryl felt his mind slipping as he mentally turned in on himself like he did when his father was laying into him. It was his way of escape when he wasn't strong enough to do it physically. He'd wait out the beating within himself. It wasn't long before the absence of fists brought Daryl back to the real world and he peered up through his defenses.  
  
        Rick stood over him, panting, looking down at his bloodied hands, his entire body trembling. Daryl noticed his menacing posture had vanished, shoulders drooped sadly. Rick looked from his hands down at the archer laying battered at his feet. " _Daryl...._ " His voice was broken and sad. As if he was finally coming back and coming to terms with what just happened. Rick took half a step forward and made to reach for the archer but Daryl seized upon his immediate instincts and scrambled back away from the man's touch, twisting fearfully onto all fours and launching himself to his feet in a full run snatching up his crossbow in his haste and disappearing out the back door of the house into the stormy night.  
  



	2. The Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has flash backs.

        Daryl didn't know where he was going, he just knew he needed to get out of there as fast as he could. His feet carried him out the back door of the house where he jumped the 4 foot drop off the back porch and into the back yard where he managed to squeeze through the missing sections of fencing in the back and he was home free into the woods. He felt like he had been running for hours when he finally stopped, bent over, gasping as his lungs burned in the cool evening air. His jeans were covered in mud up to his knees and his clothes were completely soaked through and through but he gave no worry. He was just happy to be away from there. The pain of panic in his chest beginning to subside. The fear, like bile burning in his throat faded slowly. He dropped to his knees, his legs no longer able to carry him. His body was stiff and ached. He laid his crossbow at his side and looked up at the night sky, squinting against the large fat raindrops that continued to fall with no indication of slowing down.  
  
        The wounds on his face sung in agony as the raindrops invaded the open cuts and lacerations. Daryl could of sworn he still had a few pieces of glass imbedded in his skin but he had no way to remove it without returning to civilization. He found no comfort in that thought. Just the possibility of running into Rick made him sick to his stomach. He was better off out in the woods. With trembling hands, he curled his fingers around the sling on his crossbow and forced himself to his feet to find shelter.   
  
        After a hour of aimless wandering, he dragged his feet through the mud too tired to continue. He mentally scolded himself with how childish he was being. If Merle were here he'd never hear the end of it. He could already hear that gruff voice penetrating his ears. _"What's wrong baby brother? Giving up so easy? Pussy."_  
  
        Daryl shook his head, dismissing his thoughts. "I ain't no pussy." He muttered to himself as he dragged on a few more feet. With every step he felt like his feet were filled with lead. The endless rain soaked him. Weighing him down and filled his path with deep mud puddles that sloshed icy water up his legs sending a chill up his spine. He shivered, looking around. He was half ready just to drop right then and there and call it good but something interesting caught his attention. As he approached a makeshift structure backed against a tall oak tree, mostly obscured by vines and moss. A thick layer of decaying foliage covered the roof. Daryl dragged himself up the rotting weather worn wooden ladder. The structure was an old enclosed deer blind a good ten feet above ground. The door to the blind had rotted and fallen off years ago even so, it still provided enough shelter from the elements. Mostly the damned rain and it was high enough up so he didn't have to worry about walkers and with it being camouflaged so well he didn't have to worry about people finding him. As he crawled inside, he tested the floor's structural integrity, inching along to the far corner where he pressed his back against the wall, laid his crossbow at his side and curled up shivering. He drew his knees up against his chest and buried his face into his arms.   
  
  
  
        He couldn't remember when the exhaustion over took him but he was swept away into a cold darkness. To a place all too familiar to him. Knees tucked against his chest, hot tears burning down his cheeks, the angry bellows of his fathers drunken ranting. Daryl rocked in place, trying to put the sounds out of his mind and praying his father would remain downstairs in the living room. That for one night, he wouldn't have to nurse new wounds. He wasn't one for praying. It never did any good. God wasn't going to help. He didn't care about the young boy hiding in the darkness of his closet begging for just one night where his father wouldn't come looking for him. But that moment, he tried his all. He begged that Merle was come home and save him. Would rescue him from his father's wrath but it would be no use. He hadn't seen his brother in a week and that left Daryl the center of his father's abuse. The sole target of his rage.   
  
        Daryl heard the rantings slowly die down and for a moment, his heart jumped with hope that he had passed out in his chair but in seconds that hope was squished as he heard his father's boots storming up the stairs and his voice booming " **WHERE ARE YOU YOU SNEAKY LITTLE BASTARD!?** " He screamed. If you didn't know it, you'd of thought a bull was charging up those stairs. Daryl flinched when he heard his bedroom door get thrown open. He squeezed his eyes shut tight already knowing the closet was the first place his father would look. He knew hiding was futile. He didn't know why he even bothered. In seconds the closet door was nearly ripped off it's hinges. " **There you are you son of a bitch!** " His father growled. His eyes filled with fire. His large form filling the doorway completely leaving Daryl no room for escape. Before Daryl could look up, his father's large meaty fists reached down and snatched him up by his overly sized shirt and yanked him into the air, off the floor. " **Ungrateful no good greedy bastard. You drank all my beer**."  
  
        Daryl pleaded, grabbing at his father's hands as he gasped "I didn't. Promise." Daryl's pitiful attempts of trying to get his father to release his death grip only angers the hulking man more. The anger burning in his eyes. Daryl could see the veins in the man's neck throbbing as he growled, throwing the young boy against the wall.   
  
        " **I'll teach you to lie to me you little fucker.** " His father snarled, pulling his worn leather belt from his pants with one hand. The ends of the belt were frayed and shredded. The old cracked leather, fragile and harmless in appearance to a stranger was a terrifying lethal weapon in the hands of Will Dixon. He threw his son to the floor and just as Daryl got to all fours the terrible crack of the belt filled the air and was followed by a scream. The screaming voice seemed distant and far away but in moments, Daryl realized it was his own as another crack came. The belt lashed across his back like a whip, the hard frayed leather like barbs on his skin, tearing at it, leaving long streaks of blood in their wake. Daryl curled in on himself, willing himself to disappear as each crack came. He no longer screamed. His back hurt all together, numbing the pain as he forced himself to vanish within his own thoughts. Imagining himself anywhere but here.   
  
        When Will Dixon found the belt wasn't satisfactory, he snatched up Daryl by his tiny bicep and lifted him off the ground like a rag doll. His voice was a slur of barbed words meant to demean him but the alcohol was in full affect and Daryl couldn't make sense of any of it. When the words didn't seem to get a reaction out of Daryl, the fiery rage inside his father's eyes rekindled and he slammed his meaty fists into Daryl's jaw for good measure as if to ensure the boy would remember whatever lesson this was supposed to teach him. After finding himself either satisfied or bored, Will dropped the boy to the floor and stumbled out of the room. Daryl remained there on the cold floor of his bedroom, refusing to move. Hurting to much to move. Listening for the sounds of snored that soon came from downstairs indicating his father had passed out. Daryl stayed motionless, tears pooling off his face and onto the floor, streaking down his cheeks until he fell asleep.


	3. The Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick goes looking for Daryl.  
> Daryl goes looking for food while avoiding Rick.  
> Things aren't looking too good for Daryl.
> 
>  
> 
> By the way, lots of time jumps and P.O.V jumps.

        Rick felt the world come back to him in a dizzying whirl, his eyes scanning the room. The furniture that had been placed neatly around the living room was now smashed to pieces and tossed about. His head spun as he struggled to remember what had happened. He was brought from his thoughts when he heard a whimper and the rustling of glass. Looking down, a flash of lightning filled the dark room with light and at his feet lay Daryl, curled up, arms held over himself defensively. His entire body trembling in short gasping breathes. A steady pain shot from his hands, Rick raised them in front of him, inspecting his torn and bloodied knuckles. His breath caught in his throat as the realization dawned on him. _He did this._  
  
        Another rustling sound came and Rick saw Daryl's blue eyes peering up at him filled with fear. " _Daryl..._ " Rick made half a step forward, reaching for his friend, hearing his voice crack. Daryl's eyes widened in terror as he quickly scrambled away and to his feet, snatching up his bow and running out the back door. "Daryl!" Rick called after but he made no advance to follow. He knew the man could easily outrun him and chasing the archer down would do no good. Rick felt the steady burn of emotions fill his throat and a deep sour rotting sickness fill the pit of his stomach. His head whirled and he just managed to take a seat before the entire room started spinning and flipping on him. With a long shaky breath, Rick cupped his hands over his face . "What have I done?" His voice trembled, almost unrecognizable to his own ears. Another crack of lightning and rolling thunder lit up the crime scene before him. Rick peered through the cracks in his fingers and saw blood on the floor and the carpet. Blood that wasn't his.  
  
        He felt his stomach lurch. He placed a hand over his mouth and forced himself to breath slowly. To think. There was no way he could fix this. He can't even imagine what is going through Daryl's head right now. There's no way he would ever want to come back to the prison. That is, if Rick ever sees him again.  
  
        Rick sat there, unable to find the will to move. Wasn't like he could do anything now. He was lost with no supplies and very little ammo. Every road was blocked. There was a mass of walkers roaming the area. And now he was all on his lonesome. Then the next thought scared him even more then being alone in this shit storm. Daryl was out there all alone as well. Hurt along with it now because of him. Every part of him wanted to run after the archer but it was near impossible to find him, at least not in the dark. He'd have to wait til morning. he was sure in the archer's abilities. If he was sure of anyone, it was Daryl.

 

  
  
  
        As dawn broke over the quiet suburbs, a faint drizzle dampened the already hot Georgia morning. The air was bristling with electricity left over from the raging storm the night before. All over the neighborhood, trees and power poles laid about, knocked down by the raging winds. Rick gathered up all the supplies he could find inside the house and started his man hunt. He was no tracker but he had some experience from missing person's cases back in King County. He managed to squeeze through the narrow hole in the fence and immediately picked up a trail of footprints in the mud. Some were easier to spot then others so tracking was slow going but the further into the woods Rick went, the thicker the tree cover and the less likely the prints were washed away.  
  
        Nearly an hour into tracking, Rick had lost the trail. He searched the surrounding area for a few minutes then picked up on it once again. The ground here was covered in a thick layer of decaying leaves which made it harder to spot boot prints but now there was a new trail with what appeared to be drag marks. At first Rick thought these may have come from a walker but upon closer inspection he realized it was from Daryl's crossbow. The dragging lasted only a few feet at a time and didn't appear for a few yards. From the looks of it, the archer had grown weary and was quickly reaching his limits. Rick was simply surprised that he had made it this far or that he hadn't changed direction toward civilization.  
  
        Rick shook his head. This wasn't a normal person like Glenn or Carol he was tracking. this was Daryl. He found safety in the woods. If he was running away from something or someone in this case, he would run for the woods. It was his home turf where he had the upper hand. The look on Daryl's face flashed through Rick's mind. Those blue eyes, wide with fear. Fear of Rick. The way he trembled and ran from him. _What had he done?_ He spent the whole night, wide awake asking himself that question. Racking his brain to remember but nothing came. The last thing he remembered was Daryl telling him to get some rest before he himself fell asleep on the recliner. A shiver ran through Rick and that sick rotting feeling returned. He shook the thoughts out of his head, readjusted his bag and continued on.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
        Inside the deer blind, the archer awoke in a huddled shivering mass. He was completely soaked through, his skin was chilled and every part of his body screamed in agony. He blinked into the rays of dawn that peeked through the treeline, illuminating the inside of the hut. Daryl raised a hand to his left eye and felt it was swollen shut. His fingers graced tender skin that was more then likely bruised. As he crawled out of the blind, crossbow in hand, his empty stomach growled at him furiously. He contemplated going back to the suburb but quickly dismissed the thought when flashes of the night before filled his mind and made his body ache. He shift his crossbow on his shoulder and turned the opposite direction and started his trek further into the woods in search of breakfast.  
  
        As he walked, he tugged at the hem of his jacket, drawing it around him tighter, folding his arms hoping for a bit more warmth as he fought his way through the brush and mud. Each footstep was a fight as the earth was determined to suck his boots into it. He walked on for a while but the woods remained relatively quiet, void of life. Usually early in the morning like this, the woods would be alive with squirrels rummaging about in search of food and birds swooping in stealing away night crawlers that wiggled their way out of the earth to bask in the damp puddles. But today there was nothing. He was pretty sure he scared everything off. He hadn't even realized his teeth were chattering away until he stopped to listen for the sounds of animals. Instead of silence, he received that annoying clicking.  
  
        With another bout of chills rolling through him, he hunched in on himself and folded his arms and hissed in pain. He gently rolled up his shirt and found his torso splattered in black and blue blotches, the smallest being about the size of a fist. The large running the length of his right ribcage. He slowly dropped his shirt and cursed under his breath, shifted his crossbow on his aching shoulder once more then continued onward.  
  
        It wasn't much longer til he found himself standing on the bank of a creek. He shivered again, looking down at the cold water trickling past. He was cold enough as it was but his parched lips yearned for a drink. Carefully, he slid on his butt down the bank until his feet reached the water's surface, then he twisted to the side so he was laying along the embankment. Slowly he dipped a hand into the water and cups it, drawing his hands up to his lips and gulped it down. The cold liquid quickly soothing his sore throat and quenching his thirst. As he did this a few more times, he spotted a silver flash in the corner of his eye. He tilted his head to the side, catching a glimpse of a few fish darting through the waters.  
  
        He wished he had his fishing pole. A couple fish sounded good right about now. His stomach growled again and he released a slow sigh of defeat. He needed to find food. If the woods weren't supplying, he needed to find somewhere else that might meet his demand and that meant making for civilization. The thought left him feeling sick on the inside but it was the only chance he had of making it out here.


	4. The Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes in search for supplies and Rick holds onto hope.

        Daryl followed the creek towards the nearest town. The creek ran under a bridge surrounded by giant flat concrete slabs and the rest of the area was too slick to scale. Daryl managed to scale up part of the way and grab a hold of the frame of the bridge, hauling himself up an over. This simple action turned out to be more tiring then he thought. He stopped, sitting on the cold metal frame of the bridge trying to catch his breath. His lungs aching with each breath. His chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn't realize how bad of a beating Rick had given him. Still was nothing compared to what his old man did to him. A few times he'd find himself checked into a hospital for a few days at a time for broken bones that he'd lie and say he got them from falling out of his deer stand or crashing his motorcycle. Of course Merle would be the one to take him, his old man passed out drunk on the couch back home.  
  
        After catching his breath, he started on the road toward the town. He realized it was one that he and Rick had driven through to get to the suburbs. This town was small, only had a couple places they could check. A corner grocer, a feed mill and a gas station/auto repair shop. They didn't pay it no mind. Didn't think it was worth the trouble and with night falling, they were more worried about finding shelter so they continued through to the next town. As Daryl approached the grocer, he found it wasn't completely abandoned. The shadows of a handful of walkers lurked about inside. He checked his crossbow, preparing one of two arrows. The closer he got to the doors, the less he wanted to try his luck. There was at least six walkers inside and the building had tiny narrow aisles and very few exits. Too many tight spaces and walkers for his liking. On a good day he'd risk it but not in this shape. Not when climbing over a wall wiped him out. As much as it pained him, this place was out of the question. So he walked on, his hungry belly crying out is disbelief.  
  
        He tried the gas station but found nothing but stale candy bars and bags of sunflower seeds. Got himself a few packs of smokes though so that was a plus. His stomach wasn't too pleased with it but his nerves thanked him as he lit up a cigarette and held it between his teeth, slowly breathing in the smoke. He walked along the road under the warmth of the Georgia sun as it peaked in the sky heading towards the first house he could find hoping it may have something inside. The weather seemed to be lightening up for him. The sun's rays were already thawing his chilled skin but his clothes were still damp. He hoped they'd dry up soon. The discomfort of his wet jeans felt like they were rubbing his calves raw.  
  
        The first house he spotted was an old two story ranch house with a whitewashed facade and olive green wrap around porch. It had a chimney and from the looks of it, a cellar. Cellars were usually a good sign The outside by the chimney was over grown with ivy. The plant was like a massive monster slowly consuming one side of the house and almost the entire roof. The ivy tendrils were already reaching for the porch. Daryl climbed up onto the front porch, the boards creaking loudly under foot as he peered through the front windows. It was hard to see anything through the dust in the screens so he stepped around to the front screen door and pushed it open. He shifted in place, boots echoing loudly on the boards as he waited for something to come at him. After a moment, he stepped over the threshold and walked around, crossbow on a swivel as he went, clearing room after room. First the living room which he had tried to look into from the outside. It was spacious. Had an old hand carved wooden rocking chair in the corner, a knitting basket beside it. And an old flower pattern love seat beside it, facing an old square box t.v with rabbit ears wrapped in foil. He smiled to himself. The scene took him back. Reminded him of his house. Everything in the home was old. Even had the land-line phone hanging on the kitchen wall in the next room over. From the kitchen was a set of stairs that went up and across the hall was a very large dining room. Reminded Daryl of the one back on the farm. Had a massive cherry wood table with intricate swirling patterns etched into the wood and smoothed over with time.  
  
        Daryl made his way up the stairs, careful of the creaky boards. The house appeared to be as old as the furniture in it, maybe even older. The walls were plastered with yellowed flower wall paper that was peeling on the edges. At the top of the stairs, Daryl was greeted with a massive painting of pioneers at a harvest feast. It covered the entire wall where the hallway split into two directions. One way looked to be towards an open guest room that had a single four poster king size bed. The bed frame matched that of the rest of the house, hand carved wood. This time looking more like oak. Draped over the bed was a massive story quilt. Each square telling the tale of a family on a farm with two kids, a son and a daughter. And each square was marked with a date, showing the family growing up and ending with the two kids getting married and having kids of their own. The massive family table down stairs must have been to accompany the large family. Across from the bed was a large oak dresser, that matched the bed. The room had a tiny bathroom attachment. He stepped inside, glancing around less for security but for curiosity. He dared a look into the bathroom mirror and gasped. He looked a hell of a lot worse then he though. His left eye was swollen shut which he already figured. But the whole left side of his face was one solid black bruise dotted with large cuts and punctures.The bruising was so bad, he couldn't feel the cuts before. He leaned over the sink, giving the cuts a better look and found his earlier prediction was correct. There were still tiny fragments of glass in his skin. Using the back of his knife, he slowly slid it up against his cheek and forced them out. He hissed in pain and gritted his teeth at the pressure on his wound. By time he was done, small rivulets of blood had bubbled up to the surface and his eyes were red from tearing up. His jaw looked a bit swollen, as was his split bottom lip. He had a cut above his eye as well. Multiple smaller cuts and scrapes dotted his skin down his neck and collar bone. He lifted his shirt, careful of the bruises and found they looked to have gotten worse. His ribs were obviously protruding from hunger and his hip had a large bruise across it as well. He figured he must have landed on it.  
  
        Back out in the hallway, Daryl followed it to two bedrooms. One on the left and one on the right.  The one on the right was a replica of the first room. Same type of bed, same type of quilt with the dresser and tiny bathroom attachment. After clearing that, he went to the room on the left. This one was the only one with the door shut. Carefully, he opened the door. He didn't have to wait long when two walkers jumped out, pressing up against the partly open door, arms in the gap, body wight pinning them in place. Daryl jumped back and aimed, shooting the first walker in the head. He had no time to knock the next arrow when the first walker fell, the door was forced open giving the second one enough room to stumble out after him. Quickly he pulled out his hunting knife and pushed the walker back with his crossbow as a divider before plunging his blade into it's skull. The walker's body went limp and dropped to the floor. Daryl pushed the top walker aside with his foot allowing him to pull his arrow from the first. Inspecting the bodies as he did so, he found these were the bodies of the two people that lived here. An old man and woman. Likely the parents of the kids depicted on the quilts. With a deep sigh, he finished clearing the last room and then went down stairs to scavenge what he could from the kitchen. Wasn't much in the cupboards. A couple cans of mixed vegetables and a jar or two of canned beets. All the rest was cereal that mice had gotten to, bread that looked more like a green blob of mold and spices. He didn't even dare to open the fridge to spy what horrors probably were trapped inside there. He was almost content with the little he found when he remembered the cellar. Placing the contents in a giant canvas bag he found in a coat closet, he headed outside to see if he could find a way inside the cellar.  
  
        After a few tries and a broken shovel, he managed to break past the rusted iron lock holding the cellar doors closed and opened them up with a giant dust cloud. He dug into his pocket, finding his small handheld flashlight and started his descent into the cellar. It was dark and each step made the archer feel like he was walking through walls of spiderwebs which made his skin crawl. He directed the beam in a half circle inspection, slowly studying everything it illuminated. Mostly old lanterns on shelves, boxes, old knickknacks and kid's sized furniture. As he did one last sweep, his flashlight beam landed on a large rusted black metal shelving unit. On it were many canned goods and jars of vegetables and sealed containers of dehydrated meat. Daryl felt his stomach growl and his mouth begin to salivate as he scooped up the good and filled his bag with them. Feeling satisfied, he exited the cellar and headed back inside the house and deposited his find on the kitchen counter. The first of his conquest was the container of jerky.  
  
        The first bite was like heaven to his taste buds. It was deer jerky and it was very well made. The excitement of food didn't last long, at least not with the jerky. His jaw refused to chew it very well and he barely made it past the first bite. With a disappointed sigh, he opted for just the canned vegetable. After finishing that, he packed up all he could carry and started back out on the road, heading back the way he came. He didn't get very far before the warm Georgia sunshine vanished behind another torrent of storm clouds. It was getting into the evening hours and with the quick change in weather, he decided it was best to try to find shelter. He didn't want to get caught up in another rain storm.  
  
  
  
        Rick had followed the tracks for hours, ending up at a deer blind which he hadn't noticed if he hadn't nearly ran head first into it while staring at the ground. He inspected it and found the leaves around the base of the ladder had be disturbed and there were faint traces of boot prints. He was growing increasingly more worried. He hadn't realized the archer had gotten so far ahead of him. Just the thought of him wandering around in that storm left him feeling even angrier at himself. "At least he found cover." He mumbled to himself. He walked around the base of the blind but couldn't find a trail.  Cursing to himself, he searched a 15 foot radius around the blind but couldn't find anything.  
  
        With a sigh in defeat, he sad down on the ladder step and weighed his options. He could go back to the suburbs and wait, hoping he'd come back or finish the run and head back to the prison and pray Daryl went back there. Either way, he wasn't going to accomplish anything wandering around the woods blindly except getting himself lost. So with a heavy sigh of defeat, he headed back to the suburbs. He figured he'd wait until the next morning and then head back to the prison. With that, he began his long trek back.  
  
        After returning to the house, he busied himself with raiding the nearby homes, filling the car up with as much as he could find which wasn't much. He scrounged up a couple duffel-bags worth of canned good and found some medical supplies. Mostly amateur first aid kits and medicines left in bathroom cabinets. He gathered any blankets and extra clothes he could as well. Winter was coming and they had little to wear for warmth. By time he finished it was getting late in the evening and storm clouds had blotted out the sun's warm rays. Rick glanced up as he crossed the street back to the house, already getting the feeling it was going to be another long night.


	5. Stupidity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl fights himself.
> 
>  
> 
> Sorry this chapter is so short. I was really distracted while writing it and I hope it comes out alright.

        Daryl had walked for hours, lost in thought and wandering about the woods, a bag full of supplies hanging off his shoulder. As night was closing in and his aching body sung in protest to continuing the tiresome trek through mud and tree roots, he stopped. Dropping the bag and his crossbow and looking around. He stood in complete disbelief, staring at a clearing in the woods up ahead of him. The rotting wooden ladder beckoning him forth. He shook his head, looking up at the splattering of stars peeking through in the darkening cloudy sky then sighed in defeat. He bent over, picked up the bags and approached the tiny deer hut. As he mounted the ladder, hauling his supplies up with him, shoving them inside the hut and hoping the floor boards can still support all this extra weight, he was about to crawl inside when his experienced eyes caught something odd. He stepped down off the ladder and inspected it further. The ground at the bottom of the ladder was obviously disturbed but what caught his eye was the boot prints in the softened earth. They had a more pronounced toe to it and by the looks of it, it came the direction of the suburbs.  
  
        A sinking feeling filled his chest. His gut told him he already knew who the prints belonged to. His heart hammered his chest and his wounds cried out as a reminder. He balled his fingers into a fist and shook his head, unknowing of what his next choice should be. He felt torn. Rick was his family. His **real** family. More then blood. And so was everybody at the prison. But at the same time, he didn't know if he could trust Rick again. Didn't know if he could put himself in that situation again. A shudder ripped across his shoulders at the memory of that fury. That rage. The fear he felt. He hasn't felt fear like that since he was a kid. And he didn't want to feel that way again. So helpless and weak.  
  
        He growled, slamming his fist into the support beam of the deer stand in frustration. He winced, drawing back, seeing the blood well up on his knuckles. He unleashed a long string of curses and circled the stand in anger before finally dropping down on the ground, his back against the ladder. He dug into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette, lighting it up and taking a long slow drag. After a minute of long exhales of smoke, he gave one last drag, puffing out a smoke ring before  putting the cigarette out on his arm, pressing the hot ash tip into his skin. He sighed, removing the crushed butt and tossing it to the side. As he stood up, he reached behind himself to dig into his back pocket looking for his red handkerchief. He pulled it out, wrapping his still bleeding hand in it and getting up. He growled in his head, cursing his stupidity before turning to climb back up into the deer stand.  
  
          
  
        As the night came, so did the rain. Another storm whipped and raged through the night. The rolling thunder shaking the tree stand, threatening to collapse it with no care as to is occupant. Daryl's night was filled with fitful sleep and sudden fearful awakenings at nightmares. He'd stare off into the night and the rain, watchful of his surroundings. About midway through the night a massive group of walkers stumbled through the woods, coming from the town and heading towards the suburbs. The chorus of growls and thoughtless stomping about the woods woke Daryl. His hand immediately gripping his crossbow, ready for the attack but instead he just watched. Finding the walkers paid him no mind inside his little shelter. They continued wandering through, shuffling feet through the leaves and trampling the trail of Rick's and his own footprints. Daryl waited and watched until the last of the growls were faint and distant before his exhausted body forced him to submit to sleep. He was near to the easy temptation when a terrifying thought occurred. He leaned his head out the tiny door and studied the direction they went. A sharp pain of fear filled his stomach. Not fear for himself or his safety but for Rick's. His mind was so worn and tired, he didn't even think of the direction they were going. Now more then anything, a fire was lit inside him but he forced it down, quieting it. There was nothing he could do against so many walkers. All he could do was hope that Rick had already left the suburbs or that he was safely locked away inside the house.   
  
        He kicked himself for thinking about it. As much as he tried to push the thoughts away, the flashes of Rick's rage had vanished from his mind. Now were heart wrenching scenes playing in his mind of walkers busting in through the doors and windows and Rick not being fast enough, getting grabbed up by bony hands and dragged down. Daryl's hands curled into tight fists as he forced his mind to not finish that image. He couldn't take it. Abandoning Rick. No matter what he did. He figured there had to be a good explanation. _No, it's all my fault._ He thought. _I'm the one that dragged him out here for the run. He didn't want to leave the prison but I made him. Told him it'd be good for him. After Lori, he needed to get out. He deserved this. He deserved to feel Rick's anger. His pain. I knew he wasn't doing good but I pushed him to far. So this is my fault. And it's my fault that Rick is in danger. I have to do something._ He persuaded. Feeling the stabbing pain of guilt prod him into action. He grabbed his bag and his crossbow and started back towards the suburbs. He knew cutting through the woods would be the fastest route but he had to deal with the walkers. But, the walkers were slow going so he had an advantage. He shook that thought away then started on another plan. He could make for the main road and find a way to get the walker's attention, he could steer them of course. He wracked his tired brain for anything he had seen on the way out there that could get their attention. He thought about the cars they had past, parked forgotten along the road side.  
  
  
        He ran as fast as his legs could possibly carry him until he broke through the woods and into the road. He looked up the road and spotted a short driveway. He ran with all the energy he had left in him, smiling to himself as he saw a little car sitting in the driveway. It was an old dark purple buick. Good enough for what he had planned. Quickly, he tested the doors and found the driver's side unlocked then slid behind the steering wheel. In a matter of minutes he had the car hot wired and was heading the direction of the suburbs. He peered into the woods as the went, seeing the stranglers of the herd. He floor the pedal until he had a good enough heading on them then whipped the vehicle around and laid on the horn. He waited, watching the treeline. Laying on the horn again as the walkers' heads snapped around to peer at the sudden noise. In a matter of seconds, the walker's bodies broke through the treeline. Daryl's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he revved the engine and pounded the horn a couple more times for good measure before he started down the road, going slow at first to make sure he had all of the herd following him.  
  
  
  
  
        Back at the house, Rick sat in the living room, staring at the broken glass strewn across the floor. His hands shaking as he replayed that scene in his mind, over and over again. He was sure Daryl was never coming back. As far as Rick knew, he was long gone. He'd never seen him again. He had hurt his brother beyond compare. Broken their trust and he knew they would never get that back. He was lost in thought, ignoring the pouring rain and the thunder when off in the distance after a long rolling rumble, Rick heard what sounded like a car horn. Distant and faint.  
  
        His brain tells him to ignore it but his instincts tell him he needs to find out who's behind the noise. A string of hope sewing itself in his chest. Without a second thought, he left the house and climbed into the driver's seat of his car and started heading in the direction of the noise.


	6. Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick comes to the rescue.

        Daryl had managed to lure the walkers back to the small town he was at earlier that day. He didn't really know what it was he was planning but he continued to wail on the horn all the way back. The massive mob of walkers only growing bigger by the second. He reckoned he had all the walkers within a five mile radius gathered behind him. He sped up sure they were going to keep following him anyway. He looked in the rear view mirror, watching the stumbling herd as they struggle to keep up with their prey. Daryl glanced back at the road and slammed on the brakes. His card plowed through a group of a dozen or so walkers. He felt their bodies slip under the car and a few had gotten stuck in front of the windshield. His back tired whipped back and forth on the slick road and the rain and he spun out of control. He gripped the steering wheel and cranked it as hard as he could in vain hope of regaining control. But the car spun and the front left tires road up on a curb and knocked into the guard rail of the bridge and flipping the car on it's side. The vehicle slid a ways til it was hanging off the edge of the bridge over the 14 foot drop down into the rushing waters below.   
  
        Daryl groaned, his head had connected with the glass of his window and the steering wheel. His body ached and he was pretty sure his leg was pinned beneath the dash. He looked around, inspecting the vehicle. The windshield was smashed, allowing the rain to pour in on him. He cursed himself for not being careful as he fought to free his leg but to no avail. He tried to look at the back seat hoping his crossbow was in reach but found it had fallen directly behind him along with his bag. He dropped his head against the door frame and winced. _At least I got my knife._ He thought, reaching down and twisting as much as he could to pull it from it's sheathe on his belt. He held onto it tightly waiting for that herd to catch up.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
        Rick took a side road, avoiding the mass of walkers that had gathered, heading for the small town he and Daryl had driven through a few days prior. He noted that the sound of the horn had stopped as he rolled up on the scene. Rick reckoned there had to be at least 50 walkers gathering towards the bridge. He climbed out of his vehicle and climbed up onto the back to get a better look. There appeared to be a car flipped on the bridge. He dug around in his bag and found his binoculars. As he peered through them, he could just barely make out the form of a person inside the car. He couldn't tell who from this distance but he had a sneaking suspicion. The only person he knew crazy enough toe redirect a herd of walkers was his brother. Hi gut knotted up with fear for him. He watched the walkers surround and push on the vehicle. He could tell it was slowly inching  off the bridge. If he didn't act fast, his brother would surely drown in the raging waters below.  
  
        He searched his surroundings, looking for anything he could use. His eyes resting on the gas station. He thought for a moment, hoping there was still gasoline in the pumps. He ran over there as fast as he could and searched the garage. He found a couple cans of gas stashed in the back. He ran inside and found lighter fluid as well. He dumped the gasoline across the floor then lead a trail out to the pumps. He pulled the lines out from where they sat and dropped the nozzles on the ground, pouring gas and lighter fluid all over them. When he finished, he led a trail of gas from the buildings and lit it with a book of matches he got from inside. He ran back as fast as he could, ducking behind his vehicle as the flames raced to the building and spread, roaring to life with a loud explosive sound. He watched as the flames ate away at the gas station building and rapidly followed the liquid to the pumps.   
  
        Rick watched as the herd of walkers quickly turned their attention towards the raging fire as it grew bigger by the minute. Rick took the opportunity to sneak behind the grocery store and the grain mill, towards the bridge. He withdrew his knife and killed the remaining three walkers still pushing on the vehicle, trying to get inside at their prey. After killing the final one, he ran to the back window and busted the remainder of the glass out. He inspected the back, seeing the crossbow fallen behind the driver's seat then called into the vehicle "Daryl!" When he didn't get a response, he reached inside and withdrew the bag and the crossbow, moving them out of his way. He then took off his gun belt and started to crawl inside. He stretched across the gap and found the archer, laying unconscious in the front seat. His face battered and bruised. A large cut freshly opened across his forehead and blood running down the side of his face. He inspected the archer before resting a hand on his shoulder. "Daryl. Daryl wake up!" He shook him.  
  
        The archer's eyes flew open and he raised the blade in his hand in defense causing Rick to flinch away in surprise. The sudden motion caused the vehicle to moan and shake, sliding on the wet metal. Both men gripped for dear life as the vehicle's motion ceased. "Relax. It's just me." Rick said softly, carefully moving closer. The words no sooner leaving his lips and he mentally kicked himself. After what he did to his brother, he doubt his presence was a comforting one. Probably no more comforting then the herd of walkers just outside. At least they're dead and mindless. Give them enough reason to be hurting people they love. Rick had no reason which made him feel worse about it.  
  
        "Rick..." The archer's voice came raspy and dried up. He looked dazed. Rick figured the wound to his head had something to do with that. From the looks of it, he had lost a lot of blood which did neither of them any good. If they were to get out of this alive, he needed Daryl's help. He hoped the archer still had his wits about him.  
  
        "Can you move?" He asked, looking at the archer.  
  
        Daryl shook his head. "My leg....pinned." He gasped out as he tried to move it. Rick inspected the dashboard that had shifted down on the archer's leg.   
  
        "Need to balance the weight out. Can you lay the seat back?" Rick asked.   
  
        Daryl nodded "Can...try." He winced as he craned his head to the side and felt around the base of the seat until his fingers touched a small lever. He could barely reach it. He managed to slip a finger down enough to hook it and pulled. The seat dropped back, startling the hunter. The sudden movement sent pain shooting up his leg and through his back. He cried out. Rick clapped a hand over Daryl's mouth and muffled the noise. He waited a moment until the archer calmed down then leaned over him, reaching down under the dashboard and started to push on it. Daryl reached up and gripped the back seat door frame and tried to drag himself backwards but his leg didn't budge. Rick repositioned himself so he could get better leverage, careful of how far into the front he was as he laid on his side and pushed with all the strength he could muster. There was a creak that followed as the dash shifted just enough. Daryl dragged himself towards the back window, pulling himself free. Rick let go as the vehicle started to shift from the movement and groaned as the metal slid across the metal pavement. Both men froze and waited until it stopped. Rick held up a hand to Daryl and signaled they'd both make a break for it at the same time. Daryl nodded his understanding then waited.   
  
        Rick counted off. "3.....2.......1." They both lunged forward over the back dash and just managed to make it out the window before the car slid the rest of the way off the side of the bridge and into the rushing waters below. Daryl groaned, laying back on the wet earth, looking up at the pouring rain as it ran over the massive gash in his calf. Rick looked concern as he scrambled across the ground towards his bag. He withdrew a shirt from it and ripped it into strips and placed a quick tourniquet just above the wound. He then used the other strips to wrap it closed as a make shift bandage, hoping it would stop the bleeding. If not, then at least slow it down.  
  
        Daryl gritted his teeth and stifled another groan before Rick scooped up his bag and Daryl's slinging them over his shoulder awkwardly. He then handed Daryl his crossbow and pulled the archer to his feet. Daryl still looked dazed as if his mind was still trying to grasp what was going on. Rick took the knife from the archer's grasp and shoved it into the sheath on Daryl's belt and helped walk him away from the bridge back behind the grocery store. "You shoot only when I tell you. Got it?" Rick explained. Daryl simply nodded, barely holding the crossbow. If it weren't for the strap, he'd probably be dragging it across the ground. Rick shook his head and shouldered the extra weight, focusing on getting back to the car. The herd of walkers had changed their course and started back towards the bridge, half of the corpses on fire from walking through the flames. Rick was starting to worry that they had spotted them when the earth rumbled and the gas station exploded. He pressed him and Daryl up against the outside wall of the grocery store as body parts and debris fell from the sky.   
  
        "What was that?" Daryl's voice finally piped up. Rick looked at the archer, looking a little more alert now.   
  
        "It's called a diversion." Rick said.  
  
        "One hell of a diversion." Daryl grumbled. The archer reaching up and rubbing at his head and wincing.  
  
        Rick shook his head and leaned forward, carrying the weight of the archer with him as he peered around the corner of the building, finding a majority of the walkers blown to pieces or burned up. He took the opening and made it back to the car, depositing the struggling archer in the front seat before jumping behind the wheel.  His hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel, adrenaline coursing through his veins. His only thought being, getting back to the prison. No matter what hell they had to go through. Rick whipped the car around and drove through the flame and debris and over the bridge, leaving everything else behind them.


	7. Time

        Daryl didn't remember much after Rick pulled him out of the buick. Everything was a blur of one event after another. He remembered the sound of an explosion and shreds of images of Rick carrying him. His mouth moving in the form of words but nothing he could make out. He remembered being in the car and Rick driving like a bat out of hell. His hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. The feel of the car accelerating once they reached open road. After that he drifted in and out of consciousness. His thoughts were a tangled mess as his brain tried to piece things together. His entire body throbbed in unified agony. His head spun and his eyes blurred as he tried to focus.   
  
        He knew they had been driving a good while. The sky transitioning from darkness to light. He's rouse long enough to register the run's position in the sky and to check on rick. His eyes wide and grip still tight. He felt the familiar crunch of gravel as the tires rolled up the long drive towards the prison. He glimpsed the gates as they opened, Maggie and Glenn fighting back walkers as Carl held the gates open for Rick. He closed his eyes, feeling the car roll to a stop and hearing the faint jingle of car keys as Rick turned off the car. He heard muffled voices that came and went. Rick's first, calling Hershel's name. Then Carl's and Glenn's, full of excitement and concern. Maggie's and Carol's came and went. He heard the car door open then felt Rick's hands grab his shoulder, his grip firm but not rough as he was pulled out of the front seat. He opened his eyes long enough to see Glenn move to his other side, helping carry his weight as they practically dragged the archer into the cell block. Carl was right behind them carrying Daryl's bag and crossbow.   
  
        He heard Hershel's voice break into the mix. "Lay him down over here." The elder man directed.  
  
        Time felt as though it were nonexistent.  Hours and minutes became one. He'd come to long enough to catch a glimpse of Carol or Rick, sitting by his side. Of Hershel changing his bandages. Of Beth standing in the doorway holding Judith and humming softly. He felt as if he were drifting in a sea of broken clips. Each one passing him by as he struggled to grab them as if they were a life raft that would keep him afloat. But another wave of darkness would wash over him. Pushing him under and the current of confusion dragging him further away from reality. He'd bob up, gasping for air and grabbing at whatever shreds of details he could as if they were oxygen. He'd concentrate on the sound of bars sliding, of distant humming, of Judith crying. Or the smell of cooking food or fresh air, even the dank smell of wet concrete. His thoughts would struggle to distinguish the difference in what he felt. Between pain and the rough material of the worn out mattress. Of the pressure f the bandage wrapped around his leg or the cool dabbing of a wash rag to his face.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
        Days had past in a blur. Rick had driven straight to the prison. He rode all night long until he was greeted by the gates. Many a man had viewed them with terror in the pit of their stomachs but Rick felt as if he could cry tears of joy when he laid eyes on them. Glenn had helped him carry the archer inside the prison where Hershel had saw to his wounds. He determined the archer would live but he was severely dehydrated and had lost a lot of blood. His wounds would heal with time but Daryl needed a lot of rest. In his weakened state, the archer had gained a fever between blood loss and being exposed to the harshness of the elements. The archer was soaked to the bone, his skin like ice. By the second day he was burning up with a fever. Rick and Carol took turns watching over him. Rick was determined to stay by his side the whole time but after a lot of coaxing from Hershel and the strict orders from Carol, he was persuaded to take it in shifts. Giving him time to rest as well.  
  
        Rick explained to the others about the car accident on the bridge. He left out the fight between him and the archer. He was too ashamed to talk about it, let alone being able to find the words to explain it. As the days passed, Rick oversaw the archer's health. Changing the bandages on his wounds and switching out i.v drips that Hershel had set up. Glenn and Maggie had found them in a clinic a few runs back along with a myriad of different medications.   
  
        It took both Rick and Carol to be able to coax an aspirin into Daryl's mouth and get the delirious archer to swallow it. The first time he had batted at them, catching Rick across the jaw with a closed fist. Rick didn't even try to dodge them. He determined he deserved it and a lot more. A couple times, Beth had offered to watch over Daryl while she fed Judith. Rick obliged and would take a walk along the fences. He hadn't slept since the night Daryl ran off. Each time he closed his eyes, that fearful look on the archer's face would flash across his mind. As hard as he tried to push it away, it was just like Daryl striking out at him. He gave up and took it. He deserved it.   
  
        After each failed attempt to sleep, he'd find himself back in Daryl's cell, sitting by his side, watching the archer in fevered sleep. A few times in the middle of the night, he'd thrash in his sleep until he was trapped in a tangled mess of blankets. Rick would then have to free the archer before he'd begin to panic in his sleep. After four days, Daryl would wake long enough for Carol to get fluids or medicine into him but he always had a dazed look on his face. His eyes half lidded and glossed over. He didn't really respond to conversation or questions. The most they'd get from him was a grunt which was as automatic as breathing.   
  
        On the fifth day, Rick was sitting hunched over in the chair beside the archer's bed when Carol had walked in with a tray of food. There was two bottles of water on the tray. One for Daryl and one for Rick. "You need to eat Rick." She said as she placed the tray down in front of him. If it weren't for Carol reminding him throughout the day, the sheriff would have forgotten to eat all together. He managed a few bites here and there but he couldn't stomach the food. Seeing Daryl in such a pitiful weak state stole away his appetite. It sickened him to think all of this had happened because of him. It was his fault Daryl had run off. It was his fault Daryl had ended up in that car accident. If he had just said no to the archer and stayed back at the prison, none of this would have ever happened. Daryl wouldn't be lying in this cell. He'd be out on his motorcycle or in the woods tracking dinner or walking the fences with Rick on patrol. It was his fault everything was so fucked up. He fucked up and his brother paid the price for it.   
  



	8. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol wants answers.

        Hershel had dragged Rick away from Daryl's cell and asked him to help the old farmer with some gardening. Carol had taken her shift early upon Hershel's request. She was delighted to. She had been keeping an eye on more then just the archer. She noticed the dark circles forming on the Sheriff's feature's. The sleepless nights spent beside his friend. His lack of appetite. Hershel had seen it too and they both decided it would do Rick some good to have a distraction. He hasn't spent any time with Carl or Judith since Lori's death. Everybody knew that. He just wandered around the prison like a hollow shell of his former self. Void of any emotion except grief. Of course, they were all a family and families take care of each other so while Rick dealt with his sorrows alone despite the loving people around him, the rest took care of Judith. Carl stepped up and took over patrols and helping Beth take care of his baby sister. Occasionally he'd help Daryl and Glenn clear out other cell blocks of walkers and salvage what they could from them.  
  
        Rick spent all of his time alone, patrolling the fences at all hours or walking through the cleared out areas adrift with no goal or destination in sight. It was concerning to the rest. Watching their leader crumble further and further into himself. They kept their distance, giving him his space until two weeks ago when Daryl decided it would be better for his brother to get out of the prison and go on a run. He had persuaded the stubborn man to go with him, saying he needed a little time away and that Daryl could use a partner for this run.  Knowing the determination of the archer, the sheriff submitted and went along with him. They were only supposed to be gone a day or two but after the third day and no sign of their two best fighters, the group became worried. Carol knew they could hold their own and that they'd be back as soon as they could. She had faith in them but as she walked through the prison, the look of concern was on everyone's faces. Glenn and Maggie spent days in the guard tower watching the roads for their return.  
  
        After a week and still no sign, Glenn proposed to the council that they should go looking for them. The rest of the group kicked the thought around but it always came back to the same cold hard fact. They didn't know where the two men had went. They didn't say where it was they were going. They were beginning to lose hope when Maggie sounded off in the tower as a vehicle was rapidly approaching the prison.  
  
        Carol was overwhelmed with joy and relief with the news until she saw Glenn and Rick carrying the archer's unconscious form into the cell block. She hardly recognized him through the wounds and all the blood. Rick was obviously shaken up. His entire body trembled with a mixture of emotion. His eyes locked on the archer's limp form laying in the cell. Glenn had to keep pushing Rick back to give Maggie and Hershel space to work. When they managed to get the archer cleaned up and Hershel made his diagnosis, the vet inquired what had happened. Rick, who was still shaken up and obviously exhausted spoke in broken sentences. All Carol could catch was rainstorm, walkers and car accident. Then Rick repeated over and over again that it was his fault.  
  
        Both men had wounds on them. Daryl's was obviously the worse of the two. Both men's knuckles were bloodied and scabbed up. Rick was spotted in cuts and bruises. Most appeared to be from pulling Daryl out of the vehicle. He had a cut on his cheek from Daryl's knife. Carol felt like there was more to the story. That it was more then just walkers and a car accident. Daryl looked like he had taken a beaten given to him by a human being. One she had been on the worst end of for a large portion of her marriage.  
  
        Carol was lost in thought when she was heard the rustling of blankets and glanced up to see tired blue eyes staring at her.  


 

 

  
  
  
        Daryl slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the midday sunlight peering in through the cell block windows and casting shadows into the cells. He released a long quiet sigh and turned his head to the side, noticing Carol sitting by his side. He watched her as she appeared to be swept away in deep thought. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes seemed distant. He smiled to himself, happy to be back at the prison. He never really thought he'd think that in his entire life but this was home. This was his family. This was where he needed to be.  
  
        He tried not to disturb her thoughts but his injured leg was in an uncomfortable position. He ignored it as long as he could but now it was sending tendrils of pain through his muscles. Giving in to the cramping, he shifted under the blankets, repositioning it carefully but even the faint noise was loud in the silence of the prison block.  
  
        Carol's eyes blinked as she shifted her gaze to the archer and giving him a sincere smile "Good morning sleepy head." She teased in an attempt to lighten the mood. This brought an amused smile to the archer's lips.  
  
        "Mornin-." he said, his voice hoarse and raspy. Catching him off guard with a coughing fit. Carol's expression shifted to concern as she handed the archer a bottle of water. He took it, catching his breath and taking slow sips to calm the agitated burning in his throat. "Where's Rick?" He asked between sips, watching the woman before him.  
  
        "Outside with Hershel." Carol answered softly.  
  
        "How long have I been out?" Daryl questioned, feeling weaker then he had in a long time. His stomach roared angrily at him. The last thing he remembered eating was the jerky he found in the cellar.  
  
        "Almost a week." Carol said, taking the bottle when the archer was done with it and setting it on the stand beside the bed.  
  
        "Shit." Daryl cursed. He felt even worse now. He didn't have time to be laying about while everyone else worked to sustain them. He needed to be out there hunting and going on supply runs. He had hungry people that needed food. He mentally kicked himself for being a fuck up. If he had been paying attention, he wouldn't have crashed the damn car. He wouldn't have had to be saved by Rick. _Rick_. _Rick_ put himself in danger to save him. He risked his life and pulled him out of the car and the walker infested town. So far he's been nothing but trouble for Rick. He just can't seem to do right by him.  
  
      "What happened to you guys out there?" Carol inquired.  
  
        Daryl tensed a bit. He didn't know what to say. He searched his mind for the right words. He decided to keep it short and simple. "We were on a supply run. All the rain washed away the roads and the ones that were still intact were blocked by herds of walkers. Couldn't get back here for the life of us. We holed up for the night in the suburbs a county over. A bad storm hit and me and Rick got split up. All those walkers caught up with us. Tried leading them away with a car but there were too many in the way. Flipped the car and they swarmed me. Rick pulled me out and got us back here." He finished his summarized version.  
  
        "That's it?"Carol said, her voice laced with suspicion. Something Daryl had gotten good at picking up on. He didn't like keeping things from his family but he did it for Rick's sake. Afraid of what they'd think of him. He was a good man. Just hit a patch of bad luck. Got put in a tight place with the world coming down around him. A weaker man would have crumbled. Would have given up but Rick kept going. Kept carrying the burden's of the others even when his own grief threatened to crush him. He didn't blame Rick for what he did. It's what happens when you keep heavy shit like that bottle up for so long. You explode. He knew that better then anyone else. 

        Carol sensed the unease in the archer so she decided to change to subject. "You must be starving. I'll make you something to eat." She said, getting up from her seat. "Get some rest. I'll be back in a few minutes." she ordered before leaving the cell.  
  
        Daryl waited til he heard Carol walk out of the cell block before getting up. He pulled the blankets off of himself and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Carefully placing his feet on the cold ground and then pushing up off of the bed. He wobbled, holding onto the frame of the bed as he got up. He was tired of laying around feeling useless. He needed to do something. Even if that something was just taking a walk by the fences. He was sure he was going to get an earful from Hershel and Carol later but he needed this. He took a couple practice steps, getting a feel for his wounded leg finding it didn't hurt as much as he had thought it would. He was careful about banging it against the bars and kept his eyes on the ground, watching his step. There wasn't much damage to it. Nothing serious. Mostly just a flesh wound but it still hurt like a son of a bitch. He made it to the entrance of the cell in a few unsteady steps and was about to step out under the cat walk when he bumped into a solid form. His eyes widened when he noticed the familiar worn out pair of boots standing before him. He snapped his gaze up to meet his brother's worried expression. The small reflexive feeling of fear that had followed him for a week had vanished when he took in the worn out appearance of the sheriff. He hardly recognized the man before him. To be honest, he looked like shit. Like he was about to keel over from exhaustion at any minute. "Rick."  


**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think. I love hearing your thoughts about what you like, what you hate and what I should mention. Or if you have questions, feel free to ask!


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